


Disposable Boys

by bumblegwen



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Discussions of War, Flashbacks, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, War, World War I, wwi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:08:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28655466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumblegwen/pseuds/bumblegwen
Summary: Thomas and William have a discussion neither wants. Thomas can't watch another innocent become a rich man's cannon fodder.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow & William Mason
Comments: 3
Kudos: 53





	Disposable Boys

Some sounds passed through him, over him, around him, like water. Some exploded against his skull and yanked him from behind, back into the mud and the agony, back to metal death and blood-soaked hands.

It wasn’t easy to avoid in this rabbit warren. Thomas nursed a cuppa, made unexpectedly for him by Daisy who he knew should not have done that, not after what he had done to her. Or William. Or the others. He lost count of the others long ago.

The tea burned his lips as he sipped. He winced. Somewhere beyond the servant’s hall, William was talking. Probably to Daisy. Probably about war.

Probably about how excited he was to be another moss green tommy, about to be catapulted over safe borders to the front where he would meet the death and the mud and the metal and-

Thomas’ knuckles turned white around the mug he was holding. The young man was certainly green. Thomas knew it was ridiculous to be thinking like this about William, who hated him. Not Thomas he hadn’t earned that. In fact, he would say that it was a badge well-earned, with a lot of work and effort pushed behind it. Yet rising to the surface of his feelings towards him was something else and he didn’t like it one bit.

He pressed two fingers to the top of the bridge of his nose and stood up, eyes shut. The chair scraped underneath him, piercing the air. He almost stumbled at that. The tips of his fingers on his other hand pressed on the table. His teeth clenched.

Someone breezed through the door. Thomas dropped his hand from his face and straightened as though an iron pole had been shoved down his spine. As his eyes snapped open, he fought a groan. William, Daisy, Mrs Hughes and Mr Bates all came through like flies to meat. Jesus Christ, was there ever a moment for silence?

‘Just another day!’ William said brightly, peering over his shoulder to Daisy, ‘One more sleep until the action!’

Thomas swallowed thickly and glared at the wood grain of the table. He could ignore this. Just had to pretend he was in the dining room upstairs and become part of the furniture. He hadn’t forgotten that skill yet.

‘But you must be scared?’ Daisy replied in, Thomas noticed with unease, a very small voice that took him back to their first days at Downton when she was too frightened and young to speak up.

William paused with his hands clasped in front of him, frowning thoughtfully. ‘Yes, a little, but fear is good isn’t it? Fear helps you move.’

Raising his eyes, Thomas stared at William, fire building behind his eyes.

Does it? Does it help when you’re alone in the night, when your thoughts are so loud they even drown out the bombs, screaming at your body to run into the bullets? Does it sing you to sleep?

Thomas cleared his throat and picked up his half-drunk tea, making a move to leave the room before he hit someone. As he skirted around the table, he felt eyes on him. He risked a glance and found Bates, smarmy and smug, a subtle smile lounging about his face, eyeing him. Nausea rose in his throat and he forced his eyes away.

He had no clue what William was saying when it happened. An elbow knocked into his arm, causing the tea to slosh over the edge of the cup and splat onto the floor. He halted and lifted his gaze to William’s wide eyes. The flesh inside his mouth stung and he realise he was biting down on it. Thomas took a deep breath.

He felt their stares so sharply they might have been arrows piercing his uniform. He felt their expectations too, with Mrs Hughes and Bates poised to break up a physical fight, and Daisy shrunken and terrified as though standing next to a crate of explosives. If it weren’t for his training, so ingrained now that it was almost natural, his hands might have started to shake.

It took every ounce of his willpower to walk slowly to the rocking chair by the fire and sit down.

For a moment more, they gaped. A second later, with not even a word of apology in his direction, they carried on chatting as though the accident hadn’t happened. Thomas said nothing and glowered into the fireplace.

‘What more have you got left to do before you go?’ Mrs Hughes asked.

Thomas could almost hear the gormless shrug in William’s voice.

‘Oh, not much now. I’d ask to be sent off today if I could, to save the wait.’ William replied cheerily.

‘Well young man,’ Mrs Hughes, ‘relax while you can. Daisy, back to work before Mrs Patmore erupts, again.’

‘Yes, Mrs Hughes!’

Two sets of footsteps exited the room.

‘Do as Mrs Hughes says, William. I hope we can see you off tomorrow.’ Bates grumbled before leaving too.

Of course. Bates had to make sure he was the kindest man in the room. What a saint.

Thomas opened his eyes just as William rounded the table and sat himself quietly at the piano a metre away. William, apparently not realising Thomas was there, grinned softly to himself as his eyes scanned the keys.

Under the surface, anger flowed like burning fuel. His jaw clenched, but this was the single outward sign of any emotion. He remained unnervingly still as William plunked a few random notes.

‘William.’

William started and slipped on a flat note, head snapping in his direction. Thomas raised an eyebrow. William shifted uncomfortably, licked his lip, and went to stand up.

‘Sit.’ Thomas said quietly and evenly.

William sat, contrasting his earlier display of courage. Thomas released a long breath and straightened himself, meeting Williams dewy gaze and full, boyhood cheeks. God. He hadn’t realised how young William was until this moment. Jesus Christ.

He couldn’t imagine William had ever seen him this angry. Thomas stared at his hands. One was bare, and the other covered by that awful, dead skin coloured glove he had no choice but to wear. Sometimes he thought it was for the sake of others who might be revolted by the sight of reality, which mutilated him because reality did not care whether your hands were beautiful. Other times, like now, as he peeled his gaze from the glove, he knew it was really so that he could avoid remembering. Except, now was not the time to do that.

He looked at the young man a second longer before glancing away.

‘Aren’t you going to lecture me on rudeness?’ William asserted proudly, ‘You have no authority over me anymore, Thomas Barrow, I don’t answer to you.’

‘Lance Sergeant.’ Thomas said quietly, not quite to himself and not quite to William, ‘That’s the title they gave me. You should use it.’

‘D’you deserve it?’

Thomas narrowed his eyes. That was probably the most astute observation William would ever make in his entire life.

‘Maybe and maybe not.’

‘Get it over with.’

Thomas looked back at William, who appeared to be bracing himself for a hit. He didn’t expect it to happen, but to this, Thomas smiled.

‘I’m not going to hurt you.’ Thomas murmured as gently as he could.

‘What?’

‘I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t- ’ Thomas cut himself off, scolding himself internally for starting this bloody conversation off with sop. His breath shook audibly as he tried to calm himself down and started again, ‘William, this war you’re going into isn’t about good or evil, or fighting sportingly for your country.’

William looked, understandably even to Thomas, bemused.

‘What are you-?’

‘Shut up.’ Thomas snapped.

William gulped.

‘Those officers and generals are rich men who don’t care if someone like you dies.’ Thomas continued.

Once again, William puffed up like a bird. ‘Someone like me?’

‘Yes.’ Thomas hissed, ‘Someone poor and disposable. Someone they can throw into the mud without getting’ their own boots dirty.’

‘I’m not dis-’

‘I bloody know that!’

Exasperated, Thomas looked away from William and glowered into the shadows thrown by the embers in the fireplace. The right words were nowhere and everywhere, flying beyond his reach. On instinct, he reached into his uniform, pulled out a cigarette, his stolen lighter, and sighed as smoke permeated his lungs, ignoring the disgust on William’s face. He watched the blue, white swirls drift through the room and dissipate.

‘William… You’re a good lad.’ He paused and met William’s bewildered stare. ‘Frankly, you don’t deserve what they’re going to do to you and I’m sorry for it.’

Neither man spoke for a few moments. In that time, Thomas tried and tried again to form something tangible that make this better, turning the cigarette in his fingers before stubbing it out. He was used to being cunning with words, always had been. His words were his knives and guns, but all that was useless when you were in the middle of battle or if you were attempting to help a fellow former footman who once punched you square in the nose.

‘Thank you.’ Thomas looked back up in surprise as William spoke, ‘I didn’t think you had it in you.’

‘Had what?’

‘Compassion.’

Thomas’ throat tightened as the single word, spoken in William’s earthy, soft voice, hit him like a kick to the stomach. His lips pursed. He did not break eye contact.

‘Whatever,’ Thomas snapped, ‘what matters is… is…’

Thomas could see the minutes leading up to his decision to raise his hand over trench as though they were happening in the present. The black mud and stones of the trench wall in front of him held no comfort. His back pressed against the wall behind him and seeped unflinching cold through his uniform. Some way down the long passage on either side of him, lights from meagre fires and matches flickered weakly. The last place he had looked before he raised his hand was the sky. And all those stars.

‘Anyone out there who tells you they aren’t scared out of their minds is a downright liar and a fool. You won’t want to hear this but…’ Thomas swallowed thickly, ‘If you get hurt, or you think you’re going to die, don’t go bloody quietly. If you want to scream and cry your eyes out and curse, you do exactly that because you don’t owe anyone anything. Not heroics, not your life, not a noble death, not a bloody thing. D’you understand?’

‘No,’ William said, shaking his head, ‘no I don’t understand. I don’t understand you at all.’

Thomas leaned forward on his elbows. ‘I’m trying to tell you that if you’re afraid and you don’t want to go out there, you have to tell me now.’

William’s eyes widened, a mixture of horror and confusion lighting his face.

‘What… what are you talking about?’

‘I’ll write to anyone I can, I can even get in a word with Dr Clarkson. I met Captain Crawley on the front too, we got on well enough, I can make sure you end up with him, or he might have a say in where you go- but you have to tell me, William. You have to tell me now.’

The words ran out of him like marbles down a flight of stairs. His breath caught in his throat as he waited, the sound of his own breathing filling his brain. On the other side of the table, William began slowly shaking his head again. Thomas’ stomach dropped.

‘I can’t do that.’ William stated, ‘I don’t care what you say. This isn’t about me or you, this is fighting for our country.’

Thomas stared at him. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

‘Christ, William, aren’t you tired of being stepped on? I’m trying to help you!’

‘Why are you?’

‘Because this isn’t right!’ Thomas retaliated, ‘Because lads like you are getting killed every day and it’s not fair!’

It was not often that Thomas raised his voice. The effect was that William physically moved away as Thomas inclined closer and closer to him as he spoke, leaning on the arm of the rocking chair. William stared at him as he got up from the piano bench, so desperately that he half stumbled off. Thomas’ jaw clenched. He knew he’d failed without William having to say a word.

‘It don’t matter. I’m doing what I have to.’ William said shakily.

Thomas stood. ‘William, please.’

‘No.’

Thomas bowed his head. He huffed and shut his eyes again.

The dirt was still so clear. The smell, of rats, of blood and sweat, rotting food, gun powder, smoke, clung to his senses like a photograph pasted into an album. Thomas opened his eyes.

‘Fine.’

William nodded. ‘Fine.’

‘Do this then.’ Thomas said, ‘The moment you think you can’t… can’t cope anymore,’ he continued, looking away, ‘write to me. Don’t tell anyone, just do it.’

He forced himself to meet William’s eyes again. If he saw anything as terrible as Thomas had, day after day with no relief, those eyes would change. It was hard to tell how, but, judging from William’s gentle nature, they would dull and dampen and sink. The alternative, that he would embrace the violence, was just as disturbing.

Thomas hoped he looked like aid and not the enemy.

‘You don’t want to end up like me.’ he said roughly.

William’s lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but just as Thomas began to hope, William shut his mouth. The young man pulled himself into over-emphasised military straightness and lifted his chin so that, despite him being considerably taller than Thomas already, he could look down on him.

‘I’ve got to go now.’ William announced, ‘Good-bye, Thomas.’

He marched off.

Thomas tried. He really tried to keep it down. His jaw tightened, eyes blazed as they glared at the piano. Each haggard breath he took hissed audibly.

As if to stop himself falling, his fingertips touched on the edge of the long table by his side.

He curled his hand into a fist and slammed the side of it down on the hard wood.

When a pain like electricity shot up his arm and through his chest, causing him to whimper and clutch the hand close, he realised it had been his injured hand.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this little scene in my head for a while, but it took a while to flesh out. Not my usual Thommy centric content, interesting to explore though. Sorry the summary is so rubbish! Hope it was alright :)


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